"What does Monsieur Leon say?" he demanded, abruptly.
"He has tried to see this Lemaire, but he refuses to communicate except
through a lawyer. It looks as if he could not face him."
"Impossible to trust to that, madame," said M. Bourget, with gloom.
"The worst liars I ever met looked me straight in the face when they
lied. Is Baron Leon going to take action himself!"
"He speaks of having a case for libel. Apparently, Monsieur Lemaire
merely reiterates his demand without offering proof."
"He is keeping his proof," interjected the ex-builder.
"And Leon thinks that when he finds the money is not forthcoming, he
will revenge himself by talking, unless he is threatened with an
action."
"Perhaps it is not a bad plan to see whether it is possible to shut his
mouth. Monsieur Leon is the best judge."
M. Bourget said this reflectively. Mme. de Beaudrillart, looking here
and there with the instinct of an animal whose young are attacked,
quivered.
"Are you supposing, monsieur, that my son would stoop to bribe?"
"It would not answer. It never does," he answered, disregarding her
indignation; "otherwise, get the fellow to accept a sum, and you have
him. He could not move afterwards, because he would have put himself
within reach of the law. He could not even blab, because he calls
himself a gentleman." He glanced at Mme. de Beaudrillart, and stopped
suddenly. She had drawn a step nearer to him; all her features were
sharpened, her voice harsh.
"Do you know what you are saying?" she cried. "To do this would be to
acknowledge himself guilty! And you suggest it to me--his mother!"
"Come come, madame," said M. Bourget, reasonably, "you forget that I
also am his father-in-law, and anything which would put an extinguisher
on the business without setting the world's tongues wagging is worth
discussion. However, Monsieur Leon, who knows the ins and outs of it
all, as you and I don't, may have some better plan in his head, and I
suppose there are honest lawyers to be met with, even in Paris. As I
said, too, he has Nathalie at his elbow. Who is his lawyer? Monsieur
Rodoin?"
"Yes. Oh, if only I were there!" exclaimed Mme. de Beaudrillart,
beginning to walk up and down the room.
M. Bourget conceived it prudent to take no notice of this desire; for
privately he thought it as well that her rigid notions of honour, which
he admired immensely but considered unpractical, should be replaced by
Nathalie's excellent sense. The discovery of the blank envelope had
affected him very disagreeably. If there had been nothing in the shape
of a receipt he would have put down the want to carelessness, or some
overstrained idea which was pardonable in a Beaudrillart. But the empty
enclosure pointed to deceit. For some reason or other Leon had
hoodwinked his mother, and M. Bourget was convinced not only that the
money had never been repaid, but that this movement on the part of
Lemaire was but the sequel to a dark story. Rumours of the Baron Leon's
proceedings in Paris, which he had chosen to ignore when he gave him his
daughter, came back to him now with terrible insistence. If the present
overhanging disgrace reached the ears of those intimates at Tours whom
he had pelted with boasts, could he ever hold up his head again? He
shuddered. Wrong or right, honour or dishonour, if a bribe could have
stopped the accuser's mouth, M. Bourget would have urged its payment.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As for Mme. de Beaudrillart, she, too, was shaken. Passionately to
proclaim her belief in her son was only the weapon caught up by a
wounded heart with which to defend itself. She had covered them with
tenderest excuses, but she knew, in that deeper consciousness where she
dared not penetrate, that Leon had committed a thousand follies in those
old days which she had hoped were buried. Alas, sin is an unquiet
ghost. It walks.
In her heart she cried out against God's justice. What! Could not
those changed years atone? Could not her prayers, Felicie's devotions,
gain grace! Were the faults of his youth to meet him now--now when he
was living a blameless life; now when he was the father of an innocent
boy? Nathalie she passed over. To her it might be a grief, but she
would not feel the pang of a dishonoured name, that, worse than death
itself, would hang round Raoul's neck all his life long. She hated M.
Bourget, blaming her own triumphant assurance which allowed him to
assist in her search for the papers. If she had gone alone, if that
incident of the empty envelope had not come to his knowledge, she could
have braved it out by taking the blame on herself. She even distrusted
him, not understanding that though differing in form, in degree her
pride in Poissy was equalled by his. And yet, she was so terribly
alone, and this man knew! Before she realised what she was about, she
had faltered an entreaty to him for silence, and was met by an
uncomprehending stare. She bowed her head.
"What I mean, monsieur, is that it may do mischief to speak of this
affair before my son has stopped it."
"_I_ speak of it!" cried M. Bourget, irritably. "You don't seem to
understand that I would give ten years of my life to be certain that it
would never set tongues wagging! _I_, madame! What do you take me for?
_I_! Shall you gossip yourself?"
Fear had shaken her. She murmured that he was not one of the family.
His wave of the hand had a dignity she had never seen in him before.
"Do I claim to be? But my daughter, madame, is as much a Beaudrillart
as yourself, and my grandson more than either. Our interests are
identical."
Under the shock of these words Mme. de Beaudrillart revived.
"Be it so, monsieur," she said. "It appears to me that for the present
we must wait until we know more. If we move, we may only cause
mischief, and I would beg of you to give up any idea of going to Paris.
I believe that matters will arrange themselves. You have of course
breakfasted?"
He had left his house at a moment's notice, and began to feel the need
of food. Mme. de Beaudrillart rang, and gave orders for it to be spread
in the dining-room at once, requesting further that Mlle. Claire might
be sent for. She felt the need of support, and yet dreaded lest
Claire's sharp tongue might exasperate this man, who already began to
represent h power. She need not have feared. M. Bourget felt little
of, and cared for less, the prickly darts which Mlle. Claire let fly.
He enraged her by his indifference, but in the middle of his hearty meal
on red-legged partridges, he demanded Raoul, and though she would have
made some excuse, her mother gave a peremptory order that he should be
found. When he arrived, Mme. de Beaudrillart wondered that she had not
thought before of taking refuge in his chatter.
Still, it had its awkwardnesses. He was bent upon showing his
grandfather everything. Had he seen this, had he seen that! Why was it
that he did not come oftener to Poissy? Would he come to the river
directly? Mamma had made him promise not to go there by himself; but
she would not mind if bon pere took him.
"Do not be tiresome, Raoul!" said his aunt, sharply. M. Bourget opened
his eyes at the idea.
"Pardon, mademoiselle; you do not know, then, that we are very good
friends, my grandson and I. With your permission, since he wishes it, I
will go with him to the river--"
"And catch fish. Can you catch fish, bon pere?" interrupted Raoul.
"Here and there, my prince. But as I was saying, madame, if you will
allow Jean to go to bring this young gentleman home, I will return to
Tours by the river."
"You will not walk, monsieur?" said Mme. de Beaudrillart. "There is
Nathalie's carriage doing nothing; pray allow me to order it."
"No, no, madame. I thank Heaven I am yet strong on my legs, and can
walk as well as any of them. The mayor himself would be sorry to engage
me in a match, although he prides himself on his powers. Raoul takes
after me, as I have told his mother more than once."
Claire, who had expected her mother to make objections, especially after
this insolent assumption that in any point Raoul could resemble the
ex-builder, was amazed to find that his wishes were to be carried out.
She said so when he had gone.
"Really, mamma, considering how much Raoul is allowed to be with him
when Nathalie is at home, we might have kept the child out of his
influence in the few days he is left to us!"
"Hush, Claire, you do not know!" exclaimed her mother, feverishly. "The
man is terrible, but so far he means well, and it would never do to
affront him at this moment."
Claire shrugged her thin shoulders.
"Leon has had difficulties before now, and has got through them," she
remarked. "The whole affair seems to me so inconceivable that I am
inclined to believe Nathalie is persuading Leon to exaggerate it, in
order that she may gain a longer time in Paris. I should be capable of
doing the same myself, I own."
She laughed, and an hour or two ago Mme. de Beaudrillart might have
admitted the likelihood of such a motive. But M. Bourget's visit, and
the dreadful possibilities suggested by the blank envelope, had left her
ten times as uneasy as before. She shook her head and sighed.
"It is serious. More serious than I thought."
"You have been listening to that man. I shall never forgive Nathalie
for inflicting him upon us. And to hear him talking to Raoul as if the
child was his! Of course he has made the most of this affair, if only
because it would be such delight to him to humble us."
"No," said her mother, firmly, "there you are wrong. He identifies
himself with us."
Claire laughed again, this time contemptuously.
"How could you endure it? It seems to me that no misfortune could be so
terrible. Really, Felicie's idea of the cotton-wool was brilliant, only
I imagine it will not do for us all to be seized with deafness. Do you
suppose that he employs his time with Raoul in teaching the boy how to
economise with his pence? Rose-Marie says his driver was forced to come
here like a whirlwind, and got six _sous_ for his pains." But Mme. de
Beaudrillart, to whom, great lady as she was, such details were
intensely interesting, scarcely heard the words. Fear of something
unknown, something overwhelming, because it had to do with Leon, and
Leon's honour, was shaking her. Personal danger would have found her
calm, and the crash of misfortune; this was different. Little fears,
little uneasinesses, forgotten as soon as their light touch was removed,
trooped forth again, and dared her to ignore them now. Haunting dread
lay in the thought that truth might, after all, lie in this accusation,
at first scouted with scorn. Leon had never confided in her as to the
process by which he was disentangled from his difficulties six years
ago, had never said much about M. de Cadanet; had suddenly buried
himself at Poissy; had shunned Paris, had evaded her desire to assist in
the repayment of the debt; had finally, when pressed, deceived her by
passing off an empty envelope as the receipt which he wished her to
believe he held in his possession. Each fact might be trifling in
itself, but heralding, as they had done, the storm which had burst, they
became terribly significant. It was the collapse of faith in her son,
the sudden admittance of a frightful doubt, before which her proud
spirit quailed. If Leon had done this thing! If the net closing round
him were, after all, the strong net of justice, implacable and
unpitying--before such a dread she became helpless. Then she recalled
his evident uneasiness at the charge--nay, further behind, the fits of
depression--so opposed to his light spirit, which had now and then
seized him without apparent cause during past years. As she looked
back, accusing fingers seemed to start and point, phantom voices cried,
"He did it! he did it!" She even believed she heard his father's voice
demanding an account from her of the honour of his son, more--the honour
of Poissy, bound up as it was in this De Beaudrillart. It was only by a
supreme effort that she forced herself into quietude. The horrible
intuition in her heart might, after all, be false. Leon might be able
to clear himself, the next letter might bring news to shame her for her
want of confidence.
Rigid and white, Mme. de Beaudrillart went about the house through the
day, and with steady fingers fashioned some of Felicie's staring pink
roses. But any one who had looked into her room that night would have
seen a heaped-up figure lying, still dressed, outside the bed, and heard
the stifled cry of a sorely smitten woman, "Leon, Leon!"